


slow to bleed

by uhnonnymouse



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Courting Rituals, Crack Treated Seriously, Cultural Differences, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Less Than Human Technoblade, M/M, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Burn, Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Youll see what I mean, but like not creepy courting rituals, i spent time writing this, like way to seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhnonnymouse/pseuds/uhnonnymouse
Summary: Techno is beginning to pick up that maybe things are a bit different around here. Where Techno grew up, where every action you took weighed heavy on your conscious, courting was not treated so flippantly. You spent what dwindling time you had with those you knew to be worth it, and if you wished to spend the rest of your remaining days with someone, you proclaimed that loud and clear. Through gifts, through quests, through compromises and commitments. Through actions.Courting here, meanwhile, was all words. An alien language to Techno, a spoken dance that seemed second nature to the people of this land. It seemed more like a game than any form of genuine emotion.-Or, the only things standing in the way of Technoblade and Karl Jacobs is cultural differences, lack of emotional intelligence, Karl's existing relationship, federal politics, and a war.
Relationships: KARLNOBLADE, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Karl Jacobs/Technoblade, You read that right - Relationship, karlnap mentioned lol
Comments: 227
Kudos: 479





	1. Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> alright, you probably clicked on this out of morbid curiosity. and i don't blame you, but hear me out:
> 
> end of Techno's MCC11 stream. Dodgebolt. Techno cheering for Karl Jacobs. getting sad when Karl Jacobs is shot out. seeking out Karl Jacobs specifically to congratulate him after the win.
> 
> i'm not say Technosimp is real, buuuuuuuuut....
> 
> -
> 
> also this au has minecraft/fantasy mechanics, but with some 1800s elements. dream smp events are interpreted very loosely

Wilbur enters Techno’s chambers two hours before they’re scheduled to depart. He doesn’t even have to look up from his desk to know Wilbur is scolding at him.

“You are not wearing that to the ball.”

“It’s what I always wear.”

“Exactly.”

Wilbur looks to be living up to everyone’s expectation of his beauty. He’s abandoned his filthy, dust covered clothes for a sensible maroon vest and deep brown morning coat. He looks sharp, cut from the very stone he’s been residing in the last few months. The only piece of the Wilbur that existed before all of this that Techno recognizes is that of the blue patterned cravat Niki had gifted him, once upon a time. 

“I will not have you showing up to Rutabagville smelling like horse manure.” Wilbur scowls, beginning to dig through his closet. “Do you have anything presentable?”

“What does it matter?” Techno sighed, but stood to help Wilbur search. “We’re going to war with them either way.”

“Don’t remind me.” Wilbur pulls a collared shirt that doesn’t have a suspicious stain and throws it on the bed. “I can’t believe the nerve of Schlatt, announcing a celebration for a new state at the cusp of war. Is this a corset?”

“Rutabagville was a fort first, actually.” Techno took the corset carefully from Wilbur’s hands, setting it on the bed as well. “It’s called fashion, Wilbur.”

“I just never took you for the sort.”

“My image is very important to me.”

The two of them were able to arrange an outfit. They were even able to compromise on the amount of armor, Wilbur talking Techno down to only the shoulders of his chestplate. Techno wasn’t willing to give up the skull mask, however. 

Afterwards, they go over the guest list together, Manberg kind enough to provide them with the list. Techno notes down all the usual names, takes into account those that could pose a problem…

“Karl Jacobs?” Techno asks, nearly rhetorically. 

“Oh, he was, um…” Wilbur snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “That Manbergian, the one who played with Dream’s team in the last Championships. That bloke.”

Technoblade needed no reminder who Karl Jacobs was. Techno recalls the days leading up to the tournament, rising each dawn to go to the training field, only for another to be there before him. He remembers a man failing over and over again on simple combos, tripping over himself, beaten by his teammates. And he remembers a man getting up again, hour after hour.

Techno remembers sitting in the rafters of the Dodgebolt arena, watching above as a lithe figure ran and dodged bolts, chest tightened when he was shot. 

And most of all, he remembers the cheering and crying of a crowd, so loud the man doesn’t hear a single word Technoblade tries to reach him with.

“You know,” Wilbur says. “I actually think he’s First Gentlemen of Rutabagville.” 

Techno’s thoughts shatter into a thousand pieces. “Huh?”

“Yeeeaaahhh, he’s married to Sapnap, ain’t he?” 

Sapnap. A strong fighter, notorious for his aggressive tactics. Convicted arsonist. Dream’s dog. 

“Right.”

The conversation moves from there, and Techno happily lets it. It’s not long until Wilbur is clapping him on the back, ushering him out the door and to the carriage were Tommy, Tubbo, Niki, and Quackity are all ready to go.

Off to the ball, he supposed.

* * *

Parties weren’t really Technoblade’s thing. It was a lot of standing around and talking, and eating small foods and drinking watered down wine. Techno did what he planned to do from the beginning - stand beside Wilbur, daring somebody to try something.

Of course, he couldn’t be that lucky for long. Soon enough Wilbur got frustrated at Techno’s hovering, shooing him off to go fend for himself.

He settled for terrorizing Quackity a bit, but after that got awkward, he finally decided to just pick a place to watch.

It ended up being outside a door that he assumed led into some other hallway, between two smooth quartz pillars. It gave him a nice even view of most of the ballroom, including where Wilbur and Schlatt were having a _“friendly”_ conversation at the minibar. 

Techno was taking a sip from his flute of wine when he was startled of his focus.

“Hello, Technoblade.”

To say he hadn’t noticed Karl Jacobs walking towards him was a lie. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for him to stop and talk to Techno.

Techno lowered his glass, turning his head towards Karl slowly, hoping to scare him off. “Hello.”

Karl smiled brightly at him. “How are you enjoying the party?”

Techno let silence sink between them, thoroughly thinking over his response.

“I was hoping for more action.” Techno decided honesty couldn’t hurt.

Karl laughed, like he’d made a joke. 

“You never know, the night is young.” Karl smirked, and Technoblade’s heart beat once irregularly, like it might when an enemy has caught him off guard. Then Karl looked away towards Schlatt and Wilbur. “Especially when those two are concerned.”

“Indeed.” Techno hoped his voice didn’t sound as tight as his throat felt.

Karl was dressed as colorfully as he always was, like someone had dipped each piece of his outfit into a different bucket of paint. His vest clung to him handsomely, outlining him to seem even more thinner and taller. He held himself in a delicate, yet clumsy way, as if he had just learned about proper micro-manners only the day before. 

Techno had noticed all of his far before this moment. He’d absorbed Karl’s mannerism, just as he did everybody’s, the moment he entered the ballroom. He observed as Karl hung off Sapnap’s arm, laughing at every word that fell from the man’s mouth. 

They both watched the two leaders for a moment, the silence stretching on awkwardly.

“It’s sort of--”

“You know, I--”

“Sorry, you go first.”

Techno swallowed. 

“I never had a chance to congratulate you on your win last Championship.”

“Oh. Oh! Thank you!” Karl laughed, body swaying as he did, towards Techno and back again. “I have a one-hundred percent win streak, you know.”  
  


“I’m well aware,” Techno chuckled. “It’s quite the accomplishment. You deserve it.”

“Do you mean that?”

Techno thought of a man training for hours, from dusk til dawn, falling over and over again, only to get right back up. “Of course.”

“I still train, you know.” When Techno cocks his head at him, Karl’s smile turns mischievous. “Don’t think I never noticed you watching me practice.”

The skull covering Techno’s face suddenly felt to hot. “Do you?”

“Every day. Sapnap hardly has the patience for it, but Punz is almost always willing to help me.”

Techno hums, bringing his glass up to his lips, only to learn it’s empty of sweet wine.

“Oh, want me to get you another?” Karl’s asking, and before Techno can even get a word in, cool fingers brush against his own as the glass is gently taken from his hand. 

Techno is suddenly aware of how close he has allowed Karl to get, shoulder brushing against his upper arm as he pulls away, taking the glass with him.

“No,” Techno speaks with impeccable stoicism, but his throat still tightens around the word.

As Karl waves over a waiter to give the empty glass too, Techno takes a quick glance around the room. It doesn’t take long for him to notice the not-so-subtle glares Sapnap is giving him. Techno almost looks behind himself, like there’d possibly be anybody else the arsonist could be looking at.

“Your husband isn’t going to like, attack me for talking to you, is he?”

Karl doesn’t seem at all startled by the quip. He just sighs, not even glancing in Sapnap’s direction. His eyes are a sharp green.

“He always like this.” Karl admits. “It was cute at first, but now it’s kind of just sad.” Then, as an afterthought; “and he’s not my husband.”

“I was under the impression you were married.”

“We are to be.” Karl shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. As if marriage isn’t such a large commitment. Technoblade can never see himself getting married, sans the obvious reasons.

Techno is beginning to pick up that maybe things are a bit different around here. Where Techno grew up, where every action you took weighed heavy on your conscious, courting was not treated so flippantly. You spent what dwindling time you had with those you knew to be worth it, and if you wished to spend the rest of your remaining days with someone, you proclaimed that loud and clear. Through gifts, through quests, through compromises and commitments. Through actions.

Courting here, meanwhile, was all words. An alien language to Techno, a spoken dance that seemed second nature to the people of this land. Even Wilbur, his brother whom he was raised beside for the second half of his life, transformed in the light of a pretty man or woman. It seemed more like a game than any form of genuine emotion.

The worst offenders are Dream and George, who Techno made it a point to never touch with a ten foot pole when the two are together. In fact, George seemed to be a magnet for the behavior - a phenonium Techno will never understand.

That’s why, when Karl brushed a little closer, slim fingers running along the edge of Techno’s cloak, he hardly reactions.

“But not for a while,” Karl’s voice is low, words layered with meaning. Green eyes, more brown and yellow now that he’s closer, peer up at Techno. “We don’t want to be wed amongst such conflict.”

_That was the other thing - there was hardly any consequence for lack of loyalty._

Maybe these people had ascended beyond the notions of monogamy. Maybe they were allowed liabilities, just as they were allowed parties and pleasantries amongst the overcast of war, not discriminate of what is considered frivolous. Or maybe this all is just a game, and Technoblade is looking to far into it.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Techno missed when maybe’s were few and far between. 

It’s difficult, to brush aside the allure of hazel eyes and lithe fingers and bright smiles. Of early mornings and late nights under the sun, of being knocked down to get back up again, of the promise that determination expands past competition. 

It’s difficult, but it takes hardly any effort, and that leaves the space left behind feeling more empty than it should.

* * *

“How was your night?” Niki asks, on their way back to Pogtopia. Wilbur is grumbling drunkenly into her shoulder, Quackity’s no better, hardly conscious from his place slumped against the carriage window. Tommy and Tubbo lean against each other on the seat beside Technoblade, exhausted from the long, tense night.

Techno doesn’t answer for a long time, and Niki must assume he isn’t going to, turning from waiting patiently for an answer to gazing out the window, thoughts passing with the scenery. 

He has no idea how to approach what’s on his mind, so he just takes a breath, preparing himself for maybe the most awkward conversation he’ll ever have.

_(Maybe, maybe, maybe.)_

“How do I court someone?”

Niki looks startled, jumping enough for Wilbur to stir and glance bleary eyed around the carriage.

“Court?” Niki asks, ignoring the garbled curses of a half-conscious Wilbur. “Like, for a crime?”

“I--” Techno cut himself off quickly, Niki’s words catching up to him. Was _courting_ not even a word to them? Was the concept just that alien to these people?

“Did something happen, Techno?” Niki’s eyes widen, hands going to her mouth. “Are you in trouble?”

“No.” Technoblade says, voice clipped to stop any spiraling thoughts Niki might have. “I was mistaken.”

“If you’re sure. You know you can talk to me, Techno. To any of us.”

“Yep.”

Technoblade feels as though he has lost more than he’d even known he had. He let’s the deep, unjust hurt boil in his stomach, reveling in such a foreign emotion.

It’s the first time in a long time he’s really, truly pitied himself. 


	2. Unveiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s terrifying in a way Karl had never encountered before. Unlike Dream or Sapnap, who display themselves loudly, invoking fights and facing every challenge head-on, Technoblade is silent. Focused, sparing nothing but a few dark chuckles when things go his way. And even after the battle has long been won, he does not ease.
> 
> -
> 
> Or, Karl has a chance encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm Karl pov go brrrr

Unsurprisingly, Sapnap quickly becomes bored with the work that goes into establishing a new state. Karl expected this, never really entrusting him with something he was intended to finish. Rutabagville has always been more Karl’s baby than Sapnap’s, anyhow.

The work consisted mostly of paper and social work, letters back and forth between himself and the delegates of Manberg, reviewing and signing building permits, meeting with his people to discuss the public’s concerns, releasing press conferences on the upcoming war.

Karl doesn’t blame Sapnap for his disinterest. He’d always been a man of action, expressing how he felt in grandiose acts of violence, or with soft, simple touches. It was something Karl had found attractive. There was never a dull moment around Sapnap, always making Karl feel like he was part of something important.

And at first, it felt like Karl was the one who understood Sapnap. Understood each touch, understood the brutality that blazed beneath his skin. 

Karl shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. They’d been creeping in more and more, no longer limited to late hours alone.

He reloaded his crossbow, making an effort to focus his mind on the target ahead of him.

The quail moved a step, and Karl followed it with the head of his crossbolt, took a deep breath in, and put pressure on the trigger--

_Schoomph!_

Karl jumped back, bolt misfiring, lodging into the ground a few feet away. He stared in shock at the quail, pinned to a tree from the neck by an arrow with red, blue, and white feathers.

Karl’s arrows had yellow feathers.

A man emerged from the direction the arrow had come, dislodging the arrow and the quail from the wood in one swift movement.

Technoblade turned to look at him with empty, skull eyes. 

He’s terrifying in a way Karl had never encountered before. Unlike Dream or Sapnap, who display themselves loudly, invoking fights and facing every challenge head-on, Technoblade is silent. Focused, sparing nothing but a few dark chuckles when things go his way. And even after the battle has long been won, he does not ease.

Or at least, that’s what Karl gathered from the Eleventh Championship. He understood, then, why people call Technoblade a legend. Karl’s eyes were drawn to the inhuman man, even when he hadn’t meant them to, mesmerized by the way he moved. 

Even at the party, a celebration for the inauguration of the city he’d built from the floor up, a gathering of peace, unbias of the loyalties you held - Technoblade did not waver. Karl had hoped he’d catch the man off guard, in one form or another. But even in a suit that looks to clean, long hair pinned up much to neatly, standing almost awkwardly on the sidelines, Technoblade’s composure did not falter.

An entirely selfish part of Karl took it as a challenge. 

The empty eyes of the skull mask bore a hole through Karl. He pushes down the bile rising in his throat, ignoring the part of his mind that screams to run and hide, the part that knew he was the prey, and Technoblade the predator. 

“I had no idea Pogtopia was so close to Rutabagville,” Karl says with a smile, barely catching the micro-movements of Techno’s head; behind Karl, Karl’s crossbow, the quail, Karl’s crossbow again. 

“It’s not,” Techno says easily, and Karl believes him.

They stare at each other another minute. Then Techno looks down at the limp quail in his hand.

“Sorry.” He says, “about the bird.”

Karl doesn’t really care. He hunts the small grey birds largely for sport, an easy target to practice his bow skills. In fact, he almost never eats the birds he does catch - he gives them to the butcher or a neighbor, free of charge. 

He gets the sense this is not the case for Technoblade. He seems the sort to live entirely off the land.

“Technoblade!” Karl inflects, raising his voice and screwing his eyebrows. “That was my shot!”

To his credit, Techno barely missed a beat. “You took to long,” he shrugs. “Have you considered getting good?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Karl huffs, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

“Clearly something wrong.” Techno chuckles, turning away to disappear back into the bush.

“Hey, where are you going?” Karl runs after, Techno’s long strides and the muddled ground making it difficult. 

“I’m in enemy territory. I might even be banned from here, actually.”

“And you think you’re just going to take that quail with you?”

Techno looks back at him. “I shot it.”

“On my land.”

“Do you really care about the bird that much?”

“That _bird,_ ” Karl retorts. “Is a _citizen_ of Rutabagville.”

Techno laughs. “Bird’s can’t be citizens.”

“Well, they are. I’ve just declared it. Just now.”

“Do you really need the bird that badly.”

“No. I do think you should repay me for it, however.”

“Repay you?”

“Repay the nation.”

They’ve walked a few good yards now. Suddenly Techno stops and turns around sharply, Karl nearly running into his chest. He’s able to stifle the _woah_ that nearly escapes with his breath.

“What do you want, Karl Jacobs?”

It’s suddenly far more serious than Karl wanted it to be. Whoops.

“Well, a nice quail dinner. For starters.”

Techno snorts, a sound far more endearing than it should be.

“And where, do you suppose, you’d get this quail?”

“Oh, you misunderstand.” Karl brushes past Techno, giving himself a wide girth, needing to get out of the blistering atmosphere Techno had created. “I was hoping for us to have dinner. Together.”

Karl kept his back to Techno, completely unsure of the reaction he’d receive. The silence stretch on for what must’ve been forever, filled with nothing but the rustle of leaves and deep, heavy thoughts.

“Are you asking me,” Karl holds his breath. “To take you to my secret base?”

Ah.

“It’s hardly secret, Techno.”

Practically everybody had seen Techno come and go from his “secret base” beneath the river that runs from the ocean. It was only due to a rational fear that nobody dare steal from him. 

Karl turns back to look at Techno, almost disappointed when he sees no change in his appearance. No suspicion, no anger. No curiosity, no warmth. 

Karl is beginning to think their going to have to sit through another silence, when Techno shrugs.

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

But Techno is already moving, bounding through the forest with grace. Karl can only watch, stunned, when Techno stops after only a few paces, turning to look at Karl impatiently.

“I said okay. Let’s go.”

Karl stumbled to catch up.

* * *

Technoblade does not take him to the base beneath the river.

This doesn’t become apparent to Karl until Technoblade pulls back a branch, revealing a small cottage, tucked in on all sides by trees.

Techno leads him up creaky stairs, to a door so covered with moss, Karl almost expect it not to open.

The house doesn’t looked lived in, not really. It definitely looks occupied; kitchen fresh with the smell of coal, bed sheets wrinkled, clothes and food stacked neatly in open drawers. But all the furniture is dusty, and the wood is worn and cracked. It’s clear this is not Technoblade’s home.

Karl’s beginning to wonder if Technoblade even has a home. 

“How do you feel about stew?”

It’s almost comical, watching as Technoblade goes about the kitchen, plucking and preparing the quail, washing and dicing fresh vegetables. Cooking feels like something someone as terrifying as Techno shouldn’t be capable of doing. It’s hard to imagine the man in any domestic situation.

Techno isn’t inhuman in the subtle ways that Dream is, or the unnatural ways that Schlatt seems. His entire body moves in sync with itself, long, flat, pointed ears constantly moving, attuned to every noise. He’s abnormally tall, but it’s difficult to gather by how much - definitely a head and some above Karl. And while it’s difficult to tell, his long red gown leaving it ambiguous, Karl is convinced his body proportions are off as well; shoulders wide for his waist, legs shaped slightly differently beneath the baggy pants.

The best part is that he doesn’t seem to purposely hide any of it. Dream has always been real cagey about his appearance, for one reason or another. Technoblade seems to dress for himself, clearly having a style of clothing he prefers, simply because.

The only thing throwing Karl off is the skull mask.

“Why do you wear the mask?”

The last time Karl had asked that question, Dream completely shut down. He grew rigid, like a frightened animal, fleeing before Karl could apologize. He avoided Karl for a while after that, giving him nothing but blank glares. 

Technoblade stares down the nose of the skull at him, and suddenly Karl is no longer in a cabin in the brush. He’s lost, deep in the woods at night, trees shielding the stars above him. He’s paralyzed, staring ahead at the silhouette of his hunter, of a beast with nothing to lose.

Then Technoblade reached behind his head, and there’s a small audible _click_ , and the mask is set down on the table.

“Sorry. I forget I’m wearing it, sometimes.”

Technoblade, looks, well. He looks _young._

Karl wasn’t sure why he is surprised. He knew that Techno was around his own age. Not much younger than Wilbur, not much older than Tommy.

Maybe Karl had been expecting a face aged with war, or skin marred beyond recognition by scars. And while Techno did have scars, most notably three long, deep marks that ran from jaw to cheek, they didn’t at all look misplaced. 

Long, tangled hair fell in front of his downturned eyes. His eyes like molasses, dark and slow moving. Two, big tusks sprouted from the corners of his mouth, too sharp _not_ to have some sort of express purpose.

Technoblade took off his crown as well, setting it beside the skull. He ran his fingers through his hair, undoing all the knots, forced to stop at the start of his braid.

_Yeah. Wow. Okay._

Then Techno turned away and went back to cooking.

This was not fair, Karl decided. 

_I had no idea you were such a looker, Technoblade,_ is what Karl might’ve said, if there were others around to hear it. Instead, Karl says something that might even be worse;

“Do you take off your mask for just anyone, or am I that special?”

Fortunately, Technoblade laughs.

“Hardly.” Techno plopped sliced potato into the stew, stirring carefully. “It’s less of a mask and more of a… headdress.”

Karls hums. He wants to touch the skull, so he does; it’s smooth, well taken care of. Free of scratches or cracks.

“Is it a piglin thing?”

For a fraction of a second, Technoblade stops stirring. For a fraction of a second, Karl fears he’s made a mistake.

But the second leaves them, and Techno keeps talking.

“Yes.” Is his answer, and he leaves it at that.

The stew is delicious, and Karl makes it a point to tell Technoblade this. Their conversation consists mostly of a few sentences followed by long stretches of silence, not entirely awkward. While only a few hours ago Karl considered the silence tense and terrifying, he was beginning to understand that often, Technoblade just doesn’t have much to say. He doesn’t feel any need to fill silence.

There’s no sense of urgency, around Technoblade. Karl finds himself with so many questions, from where this cabin came from, to what the skull mask means, to where Technoblade learned to cook. So many questions, but no real urgency to ask.

“It’ll be night soon,” Techno says, after their meal is long eaten, seconds (and thirds, in Karl’s case) had. “I’ll walk you back.”

Before they leave, Techno grabs his mask, but doesn’t put it back on. He clips it to his belt, and the action feels significant in ways it shouldn’t.

The walk back to Rutagabville is peaceful. They do not speak, Karl content to follow silently behind Techno, admiring the scenery. He feels he can, trusts Techno would spot any danger long before it reached them.

Techno stops before the treeline, where abouts Karl had first seen him.

“Thanks for the meal.”

“Yep.” Techno turns around. “Bye.”

“Hey, wait!” Karl grabs onto Techno’s arm, without think. He quickly retracts his hand, but Technoblade is tense, face staring ahead, Karl unable to see it.

“Uh, you…” Karl swallows, shaking the tremors from his hands. “You’re allowed to hunt around here. Everybody’s welcome in Rutabagville.”

“Manberg won’t like that.”

“No.” Karl grins. “No, they won’t.”

Techno turns to face him. His dark eyes are unreadable, but Karl is still stricken.

“Thank you.” Technoblade says. The words feel heavy, grounding, holding Karl in place by the sheer weight of them. He wonders where he’d float off to without them.

“Bye.” Techno turns away, one final time.

  
  


“Goodbye,” Karl is left there, weighed down by feelings, sick in their familiar sweetness, until Techno has disappeared far into the bushes. 

_Come again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've always imagined piglins are sorta like orcs, and since all half-orcs are legally required to be smokin hot, i had no choice when writing half-piglin technoblade 
> 
> also, yes i'm still writing this, and i do have more. i want to make it clear that, while karl's and techno's relationship is definitely center stage, the plot is going to be driven by DreamSMP events. the story just follows their reactions to the events and each other's actions, with the added ~~romance~~ ive fabricated


	3. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did we just forget there was a war going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we take a break from regularly scheduled crack to bring some actual plot
> 
> this is SUPER short, i just didn't want to shoehorn this into the next chapter. we have a vibe to uphold, people

Where Technoblade grew up, you don’t make dinner for just anyone. 

The Nether is a ruthless landscape. All plant life is thick and thorny, slow growing. Animals are dangerous, too big and too fast, having to evolve to withstand a world where the greatest enemy is the land itself.

And while piglins have been surviving in the Nether for centuries, there is still only so much to go around. To gather as much as you can is barely enough, not even counting any family you might have, any children.

Maybe Technoblade is making it sound much worse than it is. Don’t get him wrong - he lived well, in the Nether. His tribe never went hungry, most died of old age. But that was only because each of them put in the work, worked tirelessly to make that hellscape their home.

The point is, to share food, something so crucial to survival, was one of the greatest actions of trust a piglin could indulge in.

But food was bountiful, in the Overworld. 

When Techno was a child, when he first started living with Phil, it was confusing. He found it appalling that Wilbur rarely helped Phil hunt or work in the garden; he found it stupid, how readily Phil gave him not just one, but two meals a day.

For a long time, Techno refused any food offered to him by Phil. He learned to hunt the animals of the Overworld, and he learned how to grow food from soft soil. He ate only what he was able to provide for himself.

But Technoblade was no longer a child. He understood, now, that food held no weight to humans. It was to be eaten, and that was the extent of it.

Still, he sometimes felt uncomfortable, eating around others. Paranoid, providing crops from his field to people who aren’t his family.

It was uncomfortable cooking for Karl, but not for reasons he was expecting. Techno wouldn’t have invited Karl over if he truly didn’t want to, after all. 

No, Technoblade taking Karl’s teasing at face value was an entirely selfish move. A stupid, selfish move. 

Karl had no idea. He had no idea the significance of Techno inviting him for a meal. No idea the intimacy that was watching as Techno prepared the stew, sitting across from one another while they ate. Karl had no idea, and for that, Techno was almost relieved.

Almost.

Mostly, he felt guilt.

He didn’t go back to the cabin, after dropping Karl off at Rutabagville. He couldn’t - the smell of cooked quail already haunted his senses.

Instead, he walked to Pogtopia.

* * *

Techno asks Niki what he can do to help, once he arrives in the ravine. 

Niki is always around, working on something. Cleaning weapons, weeding the field, stitching clothe, taking stalk of supplies. Tommy is quick to shift responsibility and Tubbo is excused from physical labor on account of his injuries; Wilbur is MIA most days and Quackity is stuck handling the political side of things, the only one with any idea how Schlatt thinks. Niki is left to work alone.

The guilt jumps from deep in his gut at the way Niki’s entire face brightens the moment Techno arrives. She’s quick to assign him a task, quick to chatter with him as they work. Technoblade wholeheartedly believes this revolution would fall apart if not for her.

They’re salting and wrapping meat to be stored for later in the week. He’s listening to Niki tell a story of something Tubbo had done, back before Techno joined the revolution, before the election, when someone practically falls down the stairs in haste.

Fundy stands before them, sweaty and out of breath.

“Where’s Wilbur?” He says, urgency laced in the choked words.

Niki is on her feet immediately, the air growing taut with her expression. “What’s going on?”

Fundy holds up an envelope, neatly folded, sealed with an _x_ in red wax.

“Dream’s responded.”

Techno stood back as the ravine suddenly came to life.

His fellow revolutions emerged from the cracks they’d been hiding in, swarming around the Wilbur as he read the letter out loud. Techno watched as they talked over one another, all having their own opinions on the meaning of Dream’s words. They pulled out a map, making marks and falling into the patterns of discussion.

When news reached Wilbur that Dream had officially signed himself off to Schlatt’s side, Wilbur was quick to request an armistice. The two wrote back and forth for a week straight, Wilbur unwilling to give any details as to what they discussed.

It seemed an agreement had finally been made.

“A gentleman’s battle.” Wilbur had explained. It was one of his rare moments of lucidity, no fatality stirring beneath those dark eyes. “November 16th, we will ride into Manberg for the final battle. All other conflict will halt until then.”

Technoblade watched the faces of his allies. Fire blazed behind their eyes, their movements. He listened as they formulated a plan, Techno’s quiet night stolen by the promises of war. 

Techno retreated to bed early, fully believing that whatever they schemed up, it will have changed tomorrow.

It’s months to prepare, after all. Months for everything to make itself known. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> niki and techno friendship, anybody??


	4. Wearied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bright red fabric falls from his shoulders and pools in his lap. The white fur lining makes it terribly heavy, and Karl wonders how Technoblade stands to wear it constantly.
> 
> -
> 
> Or, Karl receives a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER brief mention of unwanted sexual conduct, its only like half a sentence
> 
> also!! info about a karlnoblade spotify playlist in the endnotes, if you're curious

Left, right, left, turn, lunge.

Over and over again. Left, right, left, turn--

Karl stops abruptly, resetting himself. Not fast enough.

Dream had told him that, like all skills, fighting had a basics. There was a handful of combos and steps that all warriors knew, patterns they deviated from and added onto.

The combo was clear in Karl’s mind. He knew how to do it, how it played out perfectly. _He just wasn’t fast enough._

Left, right, left, tu--

Reset.

Left, right, left--

“Your stance is off.”

Karl tripped, landing hard on his side, barely avoiding falling on his axe.

Technoblade loomed over him, unapologetic.

“Huh?”

“Your stance.” Techno repeated. “You’re not low enough. It’s throwing off your balance.”

Techno waited patiently for Karl to pull himself up. He was disappointed to see that his mask, er, headdress was secured over his face. Karl wouldn’t be able to tell at all what he was thinking, if he was judging Karl or not.

If he watched him, while he moved.

“Bend your knees.” Techno instructs, taking a step back. “Lower your center.”

It felt awkward, but Karl wasn’t about to argue with Technoblade. He readied his axe and raised his shield, taking a breath.

Left, right, left, turn, lunge…

It took a few tries, but Technoblade was right. Of course he was - the lower stance improved his balance, allowing Karl to turn faster, landing the final hit exactly when and how he imagined it.

Karl grinned wide, pleased with himself. His eyes seeked Technoblade out - was honestly surprised he was still there, half expecting him to disappear just as suddenly as he appeared.

“What’re you up too?” Karl questioned, eyeing the basket that hung off Techno’s elbow.

Technoblade leaned down, plucked something from the ground, and held it up for Karl to see.

“Dandelions.” He says, setting the small flower into the basket. The action made Karl giggle. 

Karl laughed even more as Techno awkwardly crouched down again, pulling the flowers from the ground. The action seemed shy, almost.

If ever Karl were to describe Technoblade as _cute_ , that would be the reason. 

He shook his head. It was those sorts of thoughts that got him into trouble.

“Don’t let me interrupt you.” Techno says, snapping Karl from his staring. Ah, shit, staring?

It’s hard to focus, with Technoblade in his periphery. Techno pays him no mind, moving around the clearing, picking yellow weeds to add to his growing pile. Still, he flushes whenever he trips up, embarrassed that the greatest warrior in the entire realm might’ve seen him trip up on what must’ve been child’s play to him.

The morning passes steadily, until the sun in no longer blocked by the trees surrounding the clearing. Karl is only able to withstand about half an hour of direct sunlight before he breaks, throwing down his axe.

“Techno!” He yells across the clearing, where the man lingers by the treeline. “Want to have lunch?”

They sit beneath a large tree, Technoblade situating himself against the trunk as Karl pulls a sandwich and dried fruit from a satchel. He hadn’t really expected a visitor, but he was fine with splitting the sandwich down the middle and putting the fruit between them.

Technoblade accepted the food from him hesitantly. Karl tried not to stare as Techno moved a hand towards his mask - and _really_ tried not to be hurt when he only raised it slightly, uncovering his mouth but keeping his eyes and cheeks in shadow.

They eat in silence. The world moves sluggishly, wind moving in a slow current, the blanket of shade twinkling to expose patches of sunlight. When Karl closed his eyes, he could almost taste the chill of the coming autumn. Karl was struck by how beautiful this corner of the world they’d carved out for themselves was, all of them. He wonders if it was even more beautiful, before man had made his mark, bringing with him conflict and war.

“Do you not like it?” Karl asks, having noticed Techno is slow to eat.

“It's fine,” he responds, hardly bothered. It’s monotone, but it still sounds earnest. “I’m just not used to eating in the middle of the day.”

“Really? Is that another piglin thing?”

“No.” It’s really difficult to tell where Techno is looking, but Karl hopes it was at him. “Piglins only have one meal in their day, actually. Phil drilled two into me.”

“Phil?”

“Phil.” Techno repeats, and leaves it at that.

“I grew up on five meals.”

Techno pauses, and Karl imagines how his eyebrows might furrow.

“How?” Is what he settles on, and Karl laughs. 

“Given, two of those meals were really just a pleasantry.” Karl elaborated.

“How do you mean?”

“Like, you had breakfast because you were hungry. You had brunch because it was the only time the neighbors would bother to talk to you.”

While true, Karl meant it as a joke. Techno seemed genuinely puzzled though, mouth screwed in thought.

Karl is starting to get sick of the skull. He really, really wants to see Techno’s eyes again.

The conversation tampers off after that, Karl to content just let Technoblade think. Karl lets himself introspect as well, mind wandering naturally. He thinks about training, about all he has to learn. He thinks about Technoblade, how he looked when he first spoke to him, dressed up so neatly for a party he clearly didn’t want to be around for. Karl thought about parties, about how his life had always been full of them, from small brunch gathers to grand celebrations for the smallest of occasions.

It wasn’t long until Karl felt himself slipping, thoughts forming fully into dreams.

* * *

The sun is still in the sky, when Karl opens his eyes.

The first thing he registers is warmth, and a pleasant weight. His neck is a little sore, so his first priority is sitting up, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

Bright red fabric falls from his shoulders and pools in his lap. The white fur lining makes it terribly heavy, and Karl wonders how Technoblade stands to wear it constantly. 

Oh.

Karl gently pulls the cloak aside, glancing around. When he spots no one he stands up, turning around in a frantic circle.

Technoblade is gone, and has left his cloak behind.

* * *

He doesn’t know why, but Karl hides the garment from Sapnap. Maybe he’s afraid of the questions it would rise, of the conspiratorial look Sapnap would give him. Karl fears Sapnap would interpret it as Karl purposely making him jealous, turning this into a game, as he often does. Sapnap was aggressive when he was jealous; it was nice, sometimes. Sometimes. 

It’s hard to fold it up neatly, the furs too thick. It feels like a ghost, haunting him from where it’s tucked under their bed. He has no idea if he’d be able to handle it if him and Sapnap actually slept in the same place anymore.

It hadn’t felt like a divide, at first. Sapnap was out fighting on the frontlines, assisting Dream the best way he knew how. But now that the armistice has been called, Karl didn’t understand why Sapnap couldn’t just stay home. Why he only stopped by, usually when Karl was out, to grab some odd item and leave again.

It was the worst feeling in the world, sleeping in an empty house.

The cloak lived under the bed for two days before Karl broke. He hardly had to get up, just reaching right under and there it was. It was just long enough to cover his entire body, and the furs held heat easily, warming Karl all the way through.

The house is still terribly empty, but under the bright red cloak, Karl can imagine he’s lying in the sun, secure in knowing that someone is watching over him.

* * *

With the first autumn leaves, came soldiers from Manberg.

A few hundred arrived on Rutabagville’s borders, a great black scar that moved across the land. With them were wagons full of iron and wood and gold, supplies that were to be used to create the weapons that would fuel the army.

Karl had known they were coming for weeks, Schlatt informing him on the plans for Rutabagville to be the main supply for the war. It was still a shock to the system, however, to wake up one morning to men and women in black suits on your doorstep.

Karl came home from a long day of signing papers and sorting out living situations, exhausted to the bone. He hardly had to think when he draped the red cloak over his shoulders, curling up in bed, mind drifting.

He thought of wars, of how many the red cloak had bared witness too, singed and worn as it was. He thought of how many more it would be apart of before it settled, if it settled. He thought of what that might look like.

Mostly, he thought of how exhausting that must be. How he would never wish such a reality on anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very serious playlist for my very serious ship and fic yes yes:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ZsP8KUsvGlIm0uG89xUXI
> 
> but seriously, give it a listen! genuinely put some thought into each song. There's only like eight songs atm, so if you think of any good additions, please drop them in the comments!  
> (and if youre curious as to why i chose a song, feel free to ask,,,,)
> 
> i also just want to put out there: the implication that Sapnap has made sexual advancements or crossed boundaries when Karl didn't want him to isn't meant to vilify him. Unwanted sexual conduct amongst partners is a product of bad or lack of communication, and can be worked through if both parties are willing. Remember; consent is sexy, don't be afraid to say no, and stay safe!


	5. Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Techno had his cloak back, he could let this end, let these unfound sentiments he held burn out and fade away.
> 
> -
> 
> Or, a sentiment is returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you would turn your attention to just below the title of the fanfic, you will notice i UN-ANONED MY FIC!! this is what we call a pro-gamer move. now if, for some ungodly reason, you genuinely like my writing, you can see when i post more garbage!! i have so much Technoblade content up my sleeve i want to write in the future, both equal parts completely serious and canon-compliant, and a Quackity x Technoblade SGRUB AU blackrom oneshot series

For as much as Techno complains about it, he’s never been privy to the intricacies of piglin courtship.

He simply never had the chance too. He was young, when he lost his tribe. To young to learn, to young to experience. It wasn’t just courtship rituals either - thousands of years of culture, of history, drowned out by blood. Thousands of generations, with nothing to show but a half-bred child and a skull of spirits long dead.

Of course, as he grew into an adult, he tried to educate himself. God, he tried. But Techno quickly learned that piglin tribes were each unique in there own right, the similarities few and far between. Every piglin he spoke to had their own views, own way of life. Some wouldn’t even speak to him at all - recognizing he was an outsider, not just in appearance, but in customs as well.

His culture, his people, his home. All were well and truly lost.

He spent a year in solitude, mourning, believing that would be enough. Now, he recognized how foolish such a notion was, that something like this could ever be put to rest. Not as he clings onto every scrap that still exists, every memory of a childhood torn away to soon, every fossil of a long dead peoples.

Technoblade was cold, without his cloak.

He didn’t feel it until he stepped foot into the decrepit little cabin. He never bothered to patch it up more than was needed, so there was cold drafts coming in from every direction. There was no way the roof was going to survive the winter.

It was a childs show of affection, the only one Techno could remember clearly. Young piglins would give one of the few personal belongings they were allowed to someone they found themselves infatuated with. A rite of passage, more than anything. A show of maturity, that you are able to make sacrifices for another. It was meant to hurt.

And hurt it did. Techno’s cloak hardly ever left his shoulders, not since the day he and Phil made it. It took a week to gather enough wool, crafting it specifically for their voyage into Antarctica, an ancient empire overtaken by snow and ice. It needed to be heavy, Technoblade’s body temperature far to low to survive the freezing temperatures in just a standard coat.

Technoblade remembers exploring the ruins of that ancient city within the mountain, uncovering abstract paintings and alien relics. He wondered if there was anyone left to remember these people, anyone left to mourn the fall of this once prosperous empire.

Sometimes, the cloak still smelled of fresh snow and chill winds.

Giving it to Karl had hurt, sure. But Technoblade knew he would get it back.

If you received such a courting gift from someone you did not share affections for, it was only right to give it back. Another sign of maturity was accepting rejection.

And Karl, who knew nothing of piglin courtship, would give back the cloak, completely oblivious to the meaning of the gesture.

Technoblade had set himself up for rejection from the start. A calculated sacrifice, knowing full well the inevitable outcome.

Once Techno had his cloak back, he could let this end, let these unfound sentiments he held burn out and fade away. 

As soon as he got his cloak back.

* * *

It’d been five days, and he didn’t have his cloak back.

Of course he didn’t. He’d spent those days underground, farming potatoes. Talking to Niki. Carefully avoiding Wilbur.

He was growing restless. He wanted to go hunting.

_But hunting meant a chance of running into Karl, a chance of getting his cloak back._

He felt naked, running through the forest without the bright fabric flowing behind him. Tommy once teased him for the color, saying anybody could spot the candy red from a mile away. Technoblade didn’t need stealth to catch his prey.

He has a few quails and a handful of rabbits under his belt when he spots a flicker of purple amongst the autumn leaves. Karl Jacobs sits under the trees, curled around a book in his lab.

Technoblade lets himself watch, for just a moment. He lets himself wonder, lets himself wander into territory he’d always been, admittedly, to scared to explore. The man sat before him wishes only to make friends, to eat and party and indulge in frivolous things. The Techno of yesteryear would despise that, would think Karl Jacobs a foolish coward. Perhaps that assessment was correct.

“Hello.”

“Ah! Technoblade! You have to stop scaring me like that.”

But when Technoblade looks at Karl, he doesn’t see a fool. 

Techno is still captured by Karl as he is tackled to the ground, pain sprouting in his upper arm. 

When Techno’s mind catches up to his body, he’s on the forest floor, sword crossed with the axe of his adversary. There’s hardly any room to move, the form above him effectively pinning him. A white mask smiles down at him, mocking.

There’s yelling, but he pays it no mind, finally getting a leg in to kick Dream back. He lunges forward, but Dream blocks the slash easily, kicking up his shield from where it had fell.

They trade blows back and worth, neither gaining any upperhand. That was the trick when up against this new era style; as soon as his opponent slipped up, Techno could overpower them with the speed wielding a sword allowed him. But Dream rarely ever slipped up--

“STOP IT!”

A second axe was thrown into the mix, slicing between Techno and Dream, landing heavily in the dirt at their feet.

“Stop! What are you doing? There’s an armistice!”

Karl looked furious. More than just furious; sad, like watching them fight was actually painful.

Or at least, that’s what Techno saw in his periphery. His eyes are glued on Dream; and Dream’s on him.

“He’s trespassing.” Dream says, raising his axe towards Techno. “Technoblade is expressingly banned from Manberg.”

“This isn’t Manberg,” Karl bites back. “Rutabagville welcomes all.”

Dream’s neck snaps in Karl’s direction. “That isn’t your call to make.”

Karl shrinks with Dream’s attention on him, but he doesn’t back down.

“It isn’t yours, either.”

Dream takes a step towards Karl, and thats when Techno sees it. The grip he has on the handle of the axe, the flex of his muscles beneath his shirt. He recognizes the hostility running through Dream, the tells of a restless man.

_He wants blood, and he doesn’t care who’s it is._

“Are you a traitor, Karl?” Dream spits the word, emphasizes it with another step. “Fraternizing with the enemy behind Schlatt’s back?”

Karl is well and truly frightened now, taking two steps back for every one of Dream’s. Something dark and familiar stirs in Technoblade’s chest.

He itches to step in front of Dream, to cut him down where he stands, and he knows he could. Dream already knows that Karl’s loyalties are fickle, and he won’t tell whatever conclusion he comes to here today to Schlatt. He was the enabler of this conflict, switching sides as he sees fit. He cares not who wins or loses - Dream only craves chaos.

If it were Phil, or even Wilbur, being threatened, Techno would gladly face Dream head on. Because he knew that’s what they would expect of him, would want of him.

But Karl, who held parties in the middle of war, who faced everyone, friend or foe, with the same friendly smile, didn’t want that. 

“I’ll leave.” Techno says. “I went too far hunting. I wasn’t aware Manberg territory stretched this far north.”

Dream’s focus snaps back to him. They stare at one another, a tense silence that says more than words could.

Dream sheathes his axe over his back. “Fine.” He says, turning on his heel with a dismissive wave. “I don’t have time for this. If I see you around here again, it won’t just be me you’ll have to deal with.”

Karl let out a breath as Dream disappeared among the trees, but Techno remained on his feet, watching the forest long after Dream had gone out of sight.

“You’re bleeding.” Karl’s finger hover inches over the deep slash on Techno’s upper arm. Blood soaks the entire sleeve of his dress shirt. He’ll need stitches.

“Yep.” Technoblade responds. The pain was nothing compared to the tightness in his chest, lingering even as he could no longer hear Dream’s light footsteps. 

“Please, I’ll…” Technoblade can feel the hesitation in the air. Then Karl’s hand grabs his, the one not dripping fresh blood, gently guiding him away from the trees. “Let me help you. Alright?”

“Alright.” Techno mumbles, slow to follow, but following none-the-less.

Maybe it isn’t smart, for Karl to take him to Rutabagville, but Technoblade doesn’t protest as he is led up the steps of a small brick house. Techno revels in the warm air that bursts from the heavy wooden door when Karl opens it.

Karl leaves him in the center room as he steps into another, ushering Techno to sit at the table when he returns with a leather bag of medical supplies.

Karl is methodical when he sets out the contents of the bag, practiced as he cuts the sleeve of Techno’s shirt, cleaning the wound, threading a needle. It’s reminiscent of the way he trains, far from perfect, but determined enough to be admirable.

Techno realizes he’s never seen Karl in a real fight. He hopes he never has to.

“Thank you.” Karl whispers, eyebrows turned down as he focuses on pressing the needle through rough, pinkish skin. Techno can tell he’s realizing piglin skin is much thicker than human skin, taking extra time to pierce through the other side as not to tear the wound further.

“I should be the one thanking you.” It stings, mostly because of how slow Karl is taking. But Phil has patched enough of his wounds to be past reacting.

“I mean it.” Karl lets out a shaky breath as he finally makes the first stitch, carefully pulling the thread through to begin the next. “You would have killed each other.”

Technoblade laughs, careful not to move his arm. “Technoblade never dies.”

Karl attempts a chuckle, but it’s weak.

Technoblade leans back, thinking that’s the end of that.

“It’s so hard, running this town.”

Guess not.

Techno tries not to shift, afraid any movement will wash away the vulnerable words.

“There are so many people, with so many needs.” Karl’s managed a second and third stitch, confident now in his movements, in the resistance of Techno’s skin. “I’ve had to make sacrifices. One’s I’m not proud of.

“And then there’s Manberg, and Dream, and they…” Karl sighs. “Nobody trusts me to think for myself. Rutabagville has always been a tool.”

“It’s the nature of government.” Techno responds too easily. “Everything’s an asset. Including people.”

“Oh, right.” Karl chuckles, but it’s low, it’s sad. “You hate governments, huh?”

“Yeah.” Techno responds shortly, letting the conformation rest between them before continuing. “People should be able to make the decision for what’s best for themselves. How are you any different then Dream or Schlatt, thinking you know what’s best for these people? Deciding what needs to be sacrificed?”

It’s not meant to be hostile, but Karl winces, and Techno snaps his mouth shut.

Karl finishes the last stitch, tying and cutting the thread. He grabs gauze from the table, motioning for Techno to raise his arm, wrapping the wound up snuggly.

Karl finishes, setting everything aside on the table. And, after what’s felt like an eternity, he meets Techno’s eyes.

“Could you…?” Karl reaches up, rests his pointer finger on the nose of Techno’s skull mask.

Oh, right. Techno takes it off in jagged motions, setting it gently on the table. He really does forget he’s wearing it, sometimes.

Karl breaths out a small huff, eyes searching his own. It’s unnerving, because Karl’s expression is pensive, hazel eyes nearly unseeing as he gazes up at Techno. He hates not knowing what he’s thinking, not knowing what he sees when he looks at Techno.

All at once, Technoblade is aware of how close they’re sitting. How Karl’s knees frame one of his, calves brushing up against his own. How his hands fiddle in his lap, and Techno could reach out and take one of them in his own easily, if he dared. How he can hear his breath, a soft inhale and exhale, relaxed despite the tense silence. And maybe, if he listened very, very closely. Techno could hear Karl’s heartbeat. A steady _thump-thump_ that felt both entirely to familiar and completely and utterly alien, all at once.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Technoblade says, and before Karl could get a word in; “I’ve been courting you.”

“Oh.” Karl blinks. “I didn’t know Pogtopia had a legal system.”

“No, it’s--” Techno sighs heavily. Humans. “I’ve been pursuing you. Romantically.”

“Oh.” Karl blinks twice. “What?”

So Techno explains it to him. His face is glowing, a hotness he can feel all the up to his ears and down to his collarbone. And he starts stuttering the longer he goes on, and he notices his hands begin to shake, so much so that even when Karl reaches out to hold them, they don’t stop. And even though it feels like he’s collapsing, he doesn’t stop. Techno explains everything, the dinner and the cloak and how unsure he is in all of it, to the best of his ability.

And at dusk, with the cover of night fast approaching, Technoblade leaves Karl’s house. He leaves, just as he arrived; without the bright red cloak on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: changing your AO3 username breaks any links to fics you linked when you used your old username. thanks to AO3's shotty website design, no longer do i live in fear :)
> 
> you'll also noticed i changed the summary to sound a bit less horny. not that im not down for doing a horny karlnoblade oneshot. only if yall want it tho


	6. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would apologize for back-to-back Techno POV, but this interlude is barely 500 words anyways

Technoblades misses the first snowfall, stuck underground as he was.

Winter comes upon them in an instant. Technoblade enters Pogtopia one day, and the next, the only exit out of the ravine is frosted over. It takes hours of digging to break through the frigid earth, and another to clear the knee-high snow piling outside.

And just as suddenly, everyone is forced underground, forced into the same space. Technoblade still leaves each day, still goes out to gather supplies. But each night he’s drawn back, the fear of Pogtopia becoming a frozen cist to much of a possibility.

He can feel everyone getting restless. Especially Wilbur.

One night, as Techno’s returning from a long day in the blistering Nether heat, Wilbur stops him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s leaning against the wall, right at the very bottom step, peering up at Techno. He looks awful, hair ratted, deep bruises beneath his eyes.

“Hello.” Techno greets, stopping a few steps above Wilbur.

For a few unsettling moments, Wilbur just watches. He stares, and Techno shifts uncomfortably beneath the old fur cloak Niki had given him, after seeing he’d “lost” his. It doesn’t even reach past his knees, but it’s better than freezing to death.

“Wilbur?” Techno asks when the silence stretches on. Wil is completely unmoving, and Techno thinks that maybe his fears had come to fruition, that the entire ravine had frozen over, trapping all life in stillness.

Then, the spell is broken. Wilbur tilts his head, a wide grin breaking across his face, cracking the icy silence.

“What’d they say to you, huh?” Wilbur says pleasantly, like he’s simply asking what’s for dinner. “What’d they do?”

“What?” Techno spits, completely taken back. What is Wilbur talking about?

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Wilbur sways as he takes a step towards Techno, raising up one step closer. “You look fucking, you look  _ different. _ ” He gestures grandly at Techno with one hand, the other secured in the pocket of his jacket.

“Wilbur, what are you--”

“I don’t get it, exactly, but I know you, Technoblade.” Wilbur chuckles, the sound high-pitched and scratchy, like it hurts. “I see you smiling to yourself ‘n’ shit. Does it make you that happy? Does  _ betraying me _ make you that happy?”

Wilbur’s yelling now, and he takes another step up, leaving only one between them. Techno’s attention narrows in on the hand in Wilbur’s pocket, and he can see the muscles in his arm shift and tighten, poising.

“Say something, bastard. Prove me wrong!” Wilbur screams, and his smile shatters, and he takes another step up, and he pulls his hand sharply from his pocket, raised far above his head, and

and Technoblade flinches. He shrinks back, hands half way up to his face, one foot places on the step above, before the action catches up to him and he stops, mortified by his own reaction. 

An open letter falls from Wilbur’s hand, fluttering down and landing silently between them.

Techno can feel Wilbur’s eyes on him, even as he keeps his face turned away.

Wilbur starts to laugh.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wilbur says between wheezing breathes. “Don’t look so fucking scared. It’s not like you.”

And he turns away, sauntering back down the stairs, disappearing into one of the many carved out rooms.

Technoblade waits til he can no longer hear Wilbur before he moves. He leans down, picking up the envelope, the wax seal already broken.

A formal letter from Karl Jacobs of the State of Rutabagville, addressed to Technoblade of the Commune of Pogtopia.

An invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT the feedback I got from everyone on the last chapter was crazy???? I had no idea so many people where THAT invested in this fic, and all the "welcome backs" i got where so touching, it was genuinely overwhelming. i want to thank everyone for not only reading this but also for the enthusiasm for it. it means a lot, especially since this fic is so out-there in terms of pairing
> 
> YOU'LL ALSO NOTICE i put a chapter cap on this baby. that's right, we're in the final leg. i have a vague idea of what i want in the ending, but it will certainly change. BUT don't worry! the ending of this fic won't be the ending of karlnoblade. i have a few more ideas up my sleeve that i just didn't have the chance to put in this fic, so even after this fic is over, expect a few oneshots
> 
> alright this is like the most ive ever written in notes. if you read all this you're a real gamer <3


	7. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Karl was wrong; maybe this was just as fast spreading, just as consuming.
> 
> -
> 
> Or, Karl believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BROOO!! KARLNOBLADE IS AN OFFICIALLY TAG NOW!!!! i literally screamed when i saw this - it's a common tag now!!!! you can favorite it and everything!!! it's honestly so funny to me, because this fic is literally the only work under the tag - like, im surprised that the tag wranglers even found it??? so to celebrate, here's the next chapter! this is my favorite so far. it's got everything :]
> 
> tw: brief depiction of unwanted sexual conduct

Every person Karl greets at the door is pressed to tell him this party is a terrible idea. And maybe they’re right, in some respects. Schlatt gave him the most pitying look when Karl asked, weeks prior, if he could. The meetings with the organizers were always tense, each invitation sent and decoration hung done so with prudence. He stressed that the message this party was to send was not of hostility, or leisure, or a show of wealth. 

It was stressful, but it seemed to be paying off. Despite all the hushed chatter and lingering tension, people look to be enjoying themselves. Laughter accompanies the music, food and drink is being eaten up at a healthy rate. Everyone who received an invitation has arrived, and with time to spare.

Well. Almost everyone.

Karl tried desperately to make it look like he wasn’t looking for someone. Wasn’t scanning the tops of heads, wasn’t shuffling to keep in view of the door, wasn’t losing focus in idle conversations. 

“Karl,” Bad says at one point, setting a steady hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think Sapnap can show.”

“Right.” Karl says, sliding out from under the touch.

_ (He doesn’t mention Sapnap never received an invitation.) _

He tries not to feel too dejected, be too disappointed. He should have expected this. He  _ did  _ expect this.

From the side of the room, one of his organizers catches his eye, makes a motion with her hand. He’s stalled for too long. The show must go on.

Karl’s never been too great at public speaking. He does fine, sure, but struggles to capture a crowd like Schlatt can, invoke the emotions Wilbur does. He’s always been more comfortable behind the scenes, organizing and planning, not in front of a crowd.

But as he poises onto the low stage, the band silencing behind him, every head turning to gaze up at him, he knows. Karl knows that if he doesn’t say this, nobody else will.

He raises a glass in greeting, and begins to speak.

Karl speaks of wartime. Of Rutabagville, a fort born of conflict. Of walls constructed to protect, and everyone armed to defend. Of how it became more than that; of how the people within these walls fell in love and built families, of how the walls were expanded, and then done away with all together. Of how the fort became a town, and the town a home. 

He speaks of loss. Of the atrocities this war has brought upon them; of the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, of the emptier homes. He speaks of hollow spaces and hollower hearts; of pain. 

And, most of all, Karl speaks of peace. He speaks of warmth, of comfort, of love. Of peace not as a time or place, but as a people who make it, as a choice made rather than sought. Of how even in the darkest of times, the densest of conflicts, peace will continue on, in the homes and hearts of those who choose it. 

“No matter how this turns out,” Karl says, eyes searching the crowd. “Rutabagville will always remain a place of peace.

“Those who seek peace will always be welcome here.”

And Karl believes it. He hopes, as the waves of applause wash over him, that they do, too. 

He’s light-headed, stepping off the stage. People swarm him, pulling him aside to talk. Karl slips away to the balcony, closing the curtains behind him. He almost regrets it, the winter air biting at his fingertips and through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Nice speech.”

Karl’s too tense to jump, but his head does whip up.

Technoblade looks regal.

He leans with a tilt of his hip on the rail of the balcony, facing Karl. His hair hangs unstyled over his shoulders, running in clear strands over the white, sharp cut of his blouse. Karl’s eyes linger too long on the red of a corset, framing his narrow waist in a way that is entirely unfair.

Without that bulky cloak, the shape of Techno’s body is clear, holding Karl in place with his muscular lines and graceful movements. Behind him, Karl can see the rising moon, basking them both in low, orange light. 

“You heard it?” Karl asks, unsure how he is even breathing, muchless speaking. 

Technoblade smiles. He isn’t wearing the mask. “The important parts.”

Moth to a flame, Karl is drawn closer. He doesn’t think he can bare to look away from Techno. 

They’ve met only a few times briefly, sporadically, since that evening in Karl’s house. Each time it gets more difficult for him; Karl isn’t used to this. In the past, it’s always been a fire; fast starting and fast spreading, consuming Karl completely, burning him from the inside out.

But here, with Techno, it’s only warmth. It settles on his skin and seeps deep into his heart, just standing, just talking. His bones ache with longing, one that’s satisfied with only a look. 

Karl’s done a lot of thinking, since that night. What Techno had told him hadn’t been much of a shock; he knew Technoblade was attracted to him, in some capacity, he just had underestimated what Techno was doing about it.

A part of him expected to be intimidated. Here was Technoblade, the greatest warrior this world has ever seen, admitting to Karl an affection that ran deep into his blood. He expected to feel overwhelmed, domineered, maybe even threatened.

But watching Technoblade nearly collapse in on himself, shaking like a leaf, desperately explaining to him the practices of a culture that meant  _ so much _ \- he only felt warmth.

“So?” Karl said, leaning against the railing. “What’d you think, then?”

He takes his time mulling over Karl’s question, unseeing as he looks into the distance. The fading orange light illuminates his eyes, reflecting a deep, turbulent red.

“It was,” Techno fidgets, hand gripping the railing, and Karl can feel the tension coming off him in waves. “Optimistic.”

Karl laughs. “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Techno grumbles something under his breath, but Karl can tell he’s holding back a laugh as well.

“I meant-- It--” Techno huffed, running a hand through his hair. “You assume that everyone always has the-- the best intentions.”

Karl reaches out, slips his hand over Techno’s on the railing. He grips the metal tighter before relaxing, if only slightly.

“Maybe.” Karl hums. “But I also think it’s wrong to assume everyone doesn’t.”

The hand beneath Karl’s slips out from under, and in a clasp that almost has Karl buckling, Technoblade has wrapped a hand around his wrist. He yanks him closer, peering right down his nose at Karl, the contact of their skin chiller than the air around them.

“And what about me?” Techno says lowly, eyes wide and wild. “Do you think I have the best intentions?” 

Karl looks up at Technoblade. He looks and he sees a face littered in deep scars, and a brow decorated in jewels and gold; the spoils of war. He sees taunt muscles and a sword resting on his hip, ready to strike at a moment's notice. And he sees dark eyes, keen and wild and desperate and  _ tired, so, so tired.  _

Karl looks at Techno and he sees a man built from fear, who’s seen and committed lifetimes worth of atrocities. He sees a man who has lost all there is to lose, driven mad trying to stop the world from falling through his fingers.

Karl looks and he sees a man, one who has cooked him meals and taught him to fight and shared with him pieces of himself untouched by the rest of the world. He looks and he sees a man who fills him with a warmth like no other.

Karl looks at Technoblade and sees a man capable of love. 

“I think you’re seeking peace.” Karl looks at Technoblade, seeing past his wild gaze into something deeper, darker. “I think you just don’t know where to look.”

Technoblade stares a moment longer, before closing his eyes tightly, letting go of Karl just as quickly as he’d grabbed him. Techno takes a step back and turns away, breathing once shakily, then not at all.

“Techno…?” Karl spoke softly, unsure if he was allowed to reach out, unsure what Techno needed from him. 

“Karl Jacobs.” Technoblade says clearly, turning back to him with a look in his eye he’d never seen, a stance he doesn’t recognize. “You are a fool.”

And then, Technoblade kisses him. 

Maybe Karl was wrong; maybe this was just as fast spreading, just as consuming. 

Only, this time, it didn’t burn. 

* * *

It had been far from perfect.

Karl could tell Technoblade was inexperienced. He came crashing in too fast, knocking their teeth together in a way that caused them both to flinch. Karl had to navigate for the both of them, cradling Techno’s cheek to tilt his head in a way that didn’t have their noses knocking together. 

Technoblade was hesitant, unsure how to move, hands hovering over Karl’s chest, then his hips, then back again, never touching. Karl was sure to move slowly, leading but not demanding. He brushed his fingers lightly against Techno’s waist before settling, afraid of startling Techno if he moved too quickly.

Finally, Techno’s hands landed firmly on his shoulders, gently pulling away from the kiss.

_ “So?” _ Karl had whispered, gazing up at Technoblade, who looked back dazed and confused. The smile couldn’t be scrubbed off Karl’s face even if he tried.  _ “How was it?” _

_ “Wet.” _ Technoblade said, using the back of his hand to wipe his lips.

Karl laughed, and waited for Techno to lean back in.

* * *

For days afterwards, Karl lived in a daze.

Every moment alone was one reminiscing on warm skin beneath his fingertips, on the hesitant press of lips against his own; on dark eyes that looked down at him with so many emotions, it was overwhelming.

Even as he spoke with his friends and neighbors and allies, even as he worked into the night reading and writing letters, even as war invited itself into his home, one thought lingered beneath the surface;

_ I’d rather be with him. _

His rose-tinted glasses were shattered, when Sapnap visited.

Sapnap visited, and he came to take, just as he had done many times before.

Sapnap visited, and that’s all it was, all it had been for a long time; a visit. 

Sapnap visited, and Sapnap wasn’t blind.

And there was yelling, and things said. Words that were forgotten as soon as they left Karl’s mouth, but the feelings lingered, the emotion left heavy in the air.

And maybe it was fair, maybe it was justified; and maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe Karl had no right to feel he was the one betrayed, the one left behind, the one cheated.

And maybe Sapnap wasn’t there when Karl needed him; or maybe Karl didn’t understand what went into fighting a war; maybe he didn’t understand why Sapnap fought, or what for.

And maybe none of that mattered; maybe it mattered too much.

Karl ran.

He couldn’t do this. So, he ran.

* * *

Technoblade found Karl wandering the forest, bright red cloak wrapping around his shivering form, soaked from trending through knee-high snow.

Karl didn’t ask how Technoblade had known he was out here. He only followed as Techno led him through the trees. Neither of them spoke a word.

Techno struggled to open the door to his cabin, having to shoulder it open. It had begun snowing as they walked, the night coming early, the entire sky overcast with storm clouds.

Luckily, there looked to be a fire already in the fireplace; small, only a few embers, but enough for Techno to nurse it back to health as Karl settled, peeling his wet jacket and pants and laying them out to dry.

They sat in silence; Techno poking at the fire, Karl studying it.

“Sapnap found out.”

Techno set down the prod, sitting back on his knees. He didn’t look at Karl. Karl didn’t look at him.

Karl sniffled, running the heel of his hand over an eye.

“I,” Karl inhaled shakily. “I’m sorry.”

And bursted into tears.

For a second, he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t breath. He could have died in that very moment, and nothing would have changed.

Then, he felt strong arms around him. A gentle embrace, pulling him in, anchoring him to reality. He sobbed harder, but he breathed, even if hiccups racked violently through his body.

“I’m sorry.” He weeped into the collar of Techno’s shirt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He continued on like that, longer than he would’ve liked. Each moment felt unreal, the world slipping away only to snap back in place again, the rise and fall of Techno’s chest steady and patient.

It felt impossible, but he did calm down. Tears dried up, and Techno kept his arms secure around Karl. Karl’s face pressed into Techno’s neck, breathing in deeply.

They sat there, in each other's arm. And Karl wasn’t sure when, but the press of his face into Techno’s neck turned into a kiss; linger briefly, before placing another, and another.

Techno’s breath hitched, chest stuttering. Karl kissed the juncture of Techno’s neck and shoulder, tongue dipping out to have a taste.

“Karl…"

His hand ran up Techno’s leg, his thigh, loving the way his muscles tensed beneath his grip. He sucked languidly at the skin beneath his mouth, wanting something to fixate on. He wanted this.

“Karl.”

He  _ needed _ this.

“Karl!”

All at once, the warmth of skin beneath his fingers was out of reach. The only contact Technoblade had with him was a pair of hands on his shoulder, holding him at arm’s length.

“Stop.” Techno said, voice faint. “Please, stop.”

Karl burst into tears again.

He didn’t understand. The look on Techno’s face. He didn’t understand.

Techno cursed under his breath, pulling away from Karl. He only gave him a glance before standing up, and this was it. He ruined everything. Karl ruined everything.

Then, Techno appeared back in front of him, and threw a blanket over his shoulders.

It took some coaxing, but through his delirium, Techno managed to get Karl to stand, gently leading him towards his bed. He laid Karl down carefully, laying another blanket over his already cocooned body.

Karl reached up as Techno turned away, grabbing whatever he could reach: his wrist.

“Please don’t go.” Karl said through shuddering breaths. “I’m sorry.”

Techno slipped his hand into Karl’s, threading their fingers.

“I’m not leaving.” He whispered. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” And he slipped away.

He returned before Karl decided whether or not to believe him. He set a cup of water on the bedside table, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, waiting for Karl to join him.

Karl sat up slowly, leaning against the wall, bringing his two blankets with him.

“Drink.” Techno said, handing him the glass. “You’ll get dehydrated.”

Karl had to calm down first, not wanting to choke on the water. And when he finally did take a sip, his lips tasted like salt. But Karl did drink the whole glass, fully aware of the way Techno watched him the whole time, ready to take the glass from him when he was done.

The space between them felt too wide, the air too thick. Techno must’ve felt it too; he shuffled backwards, sitting against the wall beside Karl, a thick blanket wall between them.

“How are you so good at this?” Karl asked, throat soar from crying.

“When I was a kid, uh, Phil. He would help me when I had, um.” Techno swallowed. “Episodes.”

Karl sunk further into the blankets. “Phil?”

“Phil.” Techno nods. “He took me in, when I was younger. Saved me, really.”

“He sounds like a great guy.”

“He is.” Techno smiles. “I miss him.”

Karl wondered what that’d look like - meeting Phil. He was important to Techno. Karl would want to make a good impression. 

“I’m sorry.” Karl whispers, words almost lost, buried in fabric. 

“It’s okay,” Techno says. “It’s okay.”

And, strangely enough, it was. In that moment, it was okay.

* * *

When Karl wakes up, he’s cold. Despite the blankets, and the body wrapped around his, he’s cold.

“Morning.” Techno greets as Karl blinks awake.

“G’Mornin’.”

He doesn’t have the energy to think about how pretty Technoblade looks; just let it be known that he does, in fact, look pretty.

“Cold.” Karl says simply, shuffling closer, resting his head under Techno’s chin.

“Yeah, sorry. House isn’t really fit for winter.”

“Mmm.”

Karl’s exhausted to the bone. His limbs are stiff from the cold, and a post-cry migraine that’s driving him crazy. The only thing keeping him from shriveling up and disappearing was the arm Technoblade had draped over his center, and the soft breaths rustling his hair.

It was a long moment, laying together, before Karl spoke again.

“I accept.”

“Huh?”

“I accept, your uh-- You’re courting. I want you to court me.”

Technoblade pulled back, just to see Karl’s face.

“I, I mean, I.” Karl swallowed, face flushing, suddenly feeling too awake. “I want to be apart of whatever, whatever piglin traditions it is you want to do. I know I--” Karl swallowed, closing his eyes. “I messed up. But I want this. And I want this in a way that’s best for both of us.

“So, I accept. If, if you still, still--”

“Of course.” Technoblade says, pulling him close again. “Of course.

“Thank you.” He says into Karl’s hair. “That means. It means a lot.”

Karl hugs back, doing his best to hold back more tears, unsure if he’d even have it in him to cry if he didn’t.

“Uh, one thing.” Technoblade says, and Karl leans back to look at him again. “There’s one thing I’d um. Like to do.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Well there’s-- usually when--” Technoblade shifts beneath the covers, readjusting his hold on Karl. “When a couple officially starts courting, it’s customary to get blessed by a, um. Doctor?”

“Doctor?”

“I don’t think there's an Overworld word for it.” Techno explains. He then makes a noise, deep in his throat, something resembling a squeal. “It’s like a, spiritual doctor?”

Karl tries not to, but he can’t help but laugh. “What was that?”

“What?” Techno does it again, loud this time. He follows it up with more, a series of grunts and squeals.

“Stop!” Karl giggled, pushing at Techno’s chest. 

“It’s Pig-Latin! That’s the language of my people.”

“I’ve heard piglins talk; that’s not it.”

“Have  _ you  _ ever tried speaking it? Pig-Latin doesn’t exactly agree with human vocal cords.”

“Let me try. Tell me something to say.”

Techno thinks a moment, before saying a short phrase slowly in Pig-Latin. A low, long squeal, followed by a sharp grunt, and another shorter squeal.

They repeat it back and forth to each other, until Karl’s breathless from giggling, and Techno has his forehead pressed against Karl’s. 

“Was I close?” Karl asks once he can breath again.

“Not even a little.”

“What’d you make me say, then?”

Technoblade flushed. “My name.”

“Your name in Pig-Latin is, uh, that?”

“Well, not exactly. Piglin names and human names are built a lot differently. They don’t exactly translate well in either direction. Most bi-lingual speakers usually have two different names, one for each language.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. Do you?”

“Sort of.” Technoblade leans in, pressing his nose into Karl’s hair again, speaking against his temple. “I suppose if you translated it directly, my name would be something like ‘Victorious Scholar’ or ‘Brutal Scholar.’ The first word means someone who survives through barbaric means; the second meaning someone who learns through watching the world, but has a double meaning as an artist? Like I said, it doesn’t translate well.”

Karl hums, letting that information sink through his temple and settle in his head. They lapse into silence again.

“What were you saying before?” Karl says eventually, curiosity chewing him raw. “Before I interrupted you. About doctors?”

“Uh, yeah. So most piglin tribes have what's called a” he repeats the Pig Latin word again, slower this time. “They brew potions, heal wounds, treat diseases, that sort of stuff. But they also do all sorts of blessings and rituals.

“When a couple begins courting, they’d go and get blessed, usually for something like luck, or wealth, or safety.”

Karl nods, holding one of Techno’s hands in his. “Of course. Techno, I’d love to.”

“It’d be difficult to find someone who would do not only two outsiders, but also a human. But if we did, I’d really want to.”

Techno smiles at him, and Karl smiles back.

* * *

They’re snowed in, so even if Karl wanted to leave, he couldn’t.

The storm last night did a number on the house, breaking one of the windows on the back wall, explaining at least part of why it’s so freezing. The rest of their morning is spent boarding up the window, scooping all the snow outside, and breathing life into the fire for a second time.

They’re leaning on one another, in front of the fire, picking at dried meat when Technoblade says;

“Ten days.”

Karl sighs. “Yeah. Maybe they’ll cancel, push it back another week. It’ll be hard to fight in the snow.”

“No.” The fire reflects against Techno’s eyes, illuminating them a sharp red. “No, they won’t.”

* * *

The snow melts fast, nearly gone by midday. It’ll be back again in the evening, just as it had yesterday. 

Karl’s pants and the red cloak were fortunately spared from the snow that got in last night, both dry and ready to go.

The trip back is slow, for no other reason then their hesitant footfalls. They’re both reluctant, taking every chance they get to stop and admire the scenery.

It’s entirely too soon when they reach the treeline, the bustle of Rutabagville not far out of earshot.

They stand together, unmoving, unwilling.

Technoblade breathes deeply, stays facing away from Karl when he speaks.

“I need you to promise me,” he says, voice even, unwavering. “You won’t come on November 16th.”

Karl turns sharply. “What?”

“You’ll stay here, in your house, in Rutabagville.” He speaks quickly, leaving no room for argument.

“What, Technoblade--”

“Sleep in. Take a day to yourself. I don’t care. Just stay.”

“Techno! Look at me--”

He does. He turns sharply to face Karl, looming over him. His eyes are wide and crazed, dark molasses pools stirring with strife. If Karl looks close enough, gazes hard enough, it’s like he could see a battle reflecting in those eyes. Whether it was one of past or future, he couldn’t say. 

“Please.” Technoblade begs. “Please. On November 16th, stay at home. Afterwards we can go find a piglin doctor, I can start properly courting you. Just don’t come.”

“Technoblade--”

He grabs Karl by the forearms, pulling him in, closer, desperate.

“We can leave this place, or stay here, I don’t care. I’ll train you to wield a sword - they’re far superior to axes - and you can help me seek peace, whatever that may mean. Anything. 

“Just don’t come on November 16th.”

Karl reaches up, brushing a silent tear from Techno’s cheek. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what he  _ could _ say.

“Please.” Technoblade drew in a single, stuttering breath. “Please.”

And it was in vain.

* * *

Ten days, Karl thought.

Ten days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still reeling that karlnoblade is its own tag now. like. what. how.
> 
> anyways, like i said, this chapter is my favorite. i was so afraid writing it at first, but it turned out even better than i expected it too!! i hope y'all enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it!
> 
> two more chapters after this one!! then i have a few oneshots while i prepare for my next multi-chapter (psst - it'll be sbi centric, for anybody who wants to look out for that >.>)

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this like "haha funny oneshot" and now i have a whole multichapter slowburn planned out. i hate it here.
> 
> IF YOU IN ANY WAY TAKE OFFENSE TO THIS i'm sorry you have a hard time discerning between reality and a mediocre crack fic??? uhhh that sounds like a you issue buddy
> 
> anyways, if anybody actual reads this and gives a shit, please tell me so i know im not completely crazy


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